


Little Bit of Prayer, Little Bit of Porn

by ghostboi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Both Underage, Consensual Underage Sex, Crossdressing Sam, M/M, Possessive Dean, Sam in a Skirt, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Underage Sex, Wincest - Freeform, request, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3882160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostboi/pseuds/ghostboi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request fill - "Could you maybe write something about Dean coming home and catching Sam trying on a skirt? Thanks!! <3"<br/>Sam wants to know why Dean likes girls in skirts</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bit of Prayer, Little Bit of Porn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inbetweensamanddean](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=inbetweensamanddean).



> Note: Some confliction about wearing clothing of the opposite gender in here. It’s teenage angst and trying to discover one’s self (at least that’s how it’s meant to be written – here’s hoping it comes across that way, and not anything negative).  
> Also: underage, language, m/m, incest/wincest, TehBigGaySex, possessive Dean, Top Dean, bottom Sam, toy usage, request fill
> 
>  ~~Title from Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight". (I don't know! It was on the radio when I was trying to think of a title! You shut up!)~~  
>  No, couldn't take that title. New title from "Holding On" by Andy Grammer

It was the beginning of June and they had been holed up in some town in Missouri for three days now. Their father had told them that he would be gone for several weeks, at least. John had taken the courtesy of renting a furnished and for-once-decent apartment for them before disappearing on one of his “leads” yesterday afternoon. It was definitely better than his usual play of sticking them in some run-down motel for however long he would be gone. 

Sam eyed the building in front of him as he licked at the ice cream cone he held: their temporary apartment was located over an empty office space that was for rent. The building itself was right between a thrift store and (how could he have been so lucky?) a used book store. There were only two apartments in their building, above the empty office space: one was theirs and the other was someone their temporary landlady described as “a polite, older gentleman but a total recluse”. 

Dean had even found a job yesterday evening – he started as a “lackey” (Dean’s word, not Sam’s) for a local garage on Monday. He would be sweeping floors, emptying trash, and learning a bit more about cars in between by helping the mechanics. 

Sam’s gaze shifted to his older brother, whom was engaged in a conversation with some teenage girl who was browsing through used clothing on a sale rack outside the thrift store. He rolled his eyes as Dean shot a glance in his direction, checking on him, and shot him a grin. His eyes shifted to the girl: brown hair in a pixie cut, pretty face. Nice body, firm breasts beneath a white tank top, long legs beneath a short, denim skirt. He looked away with a slight frown, trying to ignore the odd feeling in his chest as he heard his brother chuckle at something the girl said. He had better things to do than watch his big brother flirt with the thrift store girl. Like checking out that bookstore next door.

He finished his cone and wiped his fingers on the front of his jeans. He had taken two steps toward the bookstore when a hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Where you going?” 

“Bookstore,” he answered his brother’s question, his eyes on the bookstore’s door. 

“Alright nerd boy. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam tugged free and raised his hand in acknowledgement as he headed for the store next door, anxious to see what treasures it held. 

 

He had been in the bookstore for a while – the elderly gentlemen behind the small counter up front had greeted him pleasantly and left him alone – when he came upon a section near the back of the shop. It was labeled “Adult Lifestyles and Sciences”. Sam tilted his head upon reading the title, brow furrowing in bewilderment. He moved down the aisle, eyes on the shelved books: after only a moment, the titles clued him in. His eyes widened slightly and he could feel the flush that crept up his cheeks as he read one of the titles in front of him:

“The Joy of Sex.” 

Sam glanced around, suddenly embarrassed, but found that he was still alone in the back of the store. His eyes returned to the shelved books, and another title caught his eyes:

“The Gay KamaSutra.”

Sam glanced around again to make certain he was alone before he pulled that book from its spot on the shelf. His eyes widened slightly as he saw two naked torsos on the book’s cover. He was about to put the book back, but his curiosity took hold. He flipped it open to the middle of the book, and found himself staring at a picture of two naked men in an intriguing position.

Sam flipped through several pages before closing the book. He could feel his face burning with embarrassment – he was just glad Dean wasn’t here to see him. He glanced at the book’s cover again. A sudden image of his brother, half-naked after a shower with only a towel around his hips, popped into his head.

“Shit.”

He shoved the book back onto the shelf and left the aisle quickly, face burning. He ducked down another aisle of how-to books and snatched a random one on gardening off the shelf. He sat down in a large chair at the end of the aisle and opened the book, trying to allow his embarrassment (and shame over that thought of Dean) to pass.

Sam had just calmed down and shoved the gardening book back in its spot when he heard the small bell above the shop’s front door ring. He heard voices and recognized one of them as Dean’s. He ducked out of the aisle and headed for the front of the shop – the last thing he wanted was for his brother to discover the “Adult Lifestyles” section one aisle over.

“There you are,” Dean shot him a smile as he reached the front of the store, “Find anything you want?”

Sam jerked his eyes away from his brother as another image of Dean in only a towel leapt, unbidden and unexpectedly, into his head. “I’ll come and look more later,” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck and trying not to blush.

“Okay. Let’s go grab some chow.”

Sam nodded and followed his brother out the front door, raising a hand to wave goodbye to the shop owner as he did. 

The Brothers grabbed lunch at a Sonic two blocks over. Once they had finished their food, they walked around for a while, exploring. They were almost to their apartment when Dean informed him, 

“I’m going out for a while tonight. That chick from the thrift store wants to hang out.” The older teen wiggled his brows suggestively, causing Sam to roll his eyes. His brother continued speaking as they passed through the door that led up the stairs, to their apartment: “Don’t be out by yourself. Don’t know what’s out there.” 

“I know, Dean,” he shot back, exasperated, “I’m not four years old.” 

Sam halted suddenly as his brother stopped on the step above him and turned to face him. “What?” mock disbelief touched Dean’s features, “You’re not?” 

Sam tried to duck away, a laugh escaping him, as Dean caught hold of his shirt and ruffled his hair. The older teen smirked and continued up the stairs.

 

Sam was watching something on The Discovery Channel later that evening – surprisingly enough, this place had come with free cable. He glanced over as Dean exited the single bedroom – free cable but only one bedroom – before turning his attention back to the television. He deliberately avoided looking at his brother again as he heard the young man cross the room. One glance had shown him that Dean was clad in a pair of faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched tight across his already well-defined chest.

“Whatcha watching?” 

Sam caught the subtle scent of Dean’s cologne as his brother perched himself on the couch arm, his hip and side pressed against Sam’s arm and shoulder. 

“Discovery Channel,” he answered. 

“Trying to discover where all your parts are?” his brother smirked down at him, and Sam shoved his leg, knocking him off the couch arm. He flipped the older teen off as Dean chuckled.

“Shut up, Dean. I’m probably gonna go to the thrift store next door in a while.”

Dean studied him for several seconds before nodding in agreement, “Okay. Just be back in before dark.” 

“Yeah fine, whatever, dad.”

The two stared at one another for a second before both wrinkled their noses.

“No,” Dean shook his head, “That’s – no.” The older Winchester checked to make certain he had his wallet, and that his ever-present gun was tucked into the back of his jeans, beneath his untucked shirt. He snagged his jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and headed for the door,

“Be in before dark. Don’t forget to lock the door and lay down the salt lines.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam’s attention was on the program about ancient Egypt again, one leg draped over the couch arm, “See you later.”

He was entranced in the program and didn’t see his brother pause in the doorway to run an assessing gaze over him. Nor did he catch Dean running a hand over his face and shaking his head before exiting the apartment.

When his show was finished, Sam pulled on his shoes and grabbed his wallet, his phone and the keychain with his door key and exited the apartment. He descended the steps and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was tempted to go back to the bookstore, for he really had seen several books he wouldn’t mind reading. He contemplated it for a moment, but turned toward the thrift shop. He wanted to be able to enjoy the bookstore in its entirety, not in some small window of time before the sun went down. 

Sam found several shirts for himself while exploring the thrift shop, and two rock band shirts for Dean. He also found several plaid, long-sleeved button-ups. He had hit another growth spurt right after his thirteenth birthday last month, and was outgrowing his clothes. He paused as he passed a bin of miscellaneous clothing when an item caught his eye. He moved to it and began to sift through it.

When Sam exited the thrift store a short while later, he had several shirts for him and several for Dean, along with some other articles of clothing he had found; a Nirvana CD for himself and a used CD walkman that still played, along with a Led Zepplin cd, for Dean (his brother’s current copy was a cassette tape); and three books. All for $7 – not bad. 

He locked the door and laid down salt lines in front of it and the windows when he was back in the apartment. A glance at the clock told him that it was almost 8:00 pm, and his stomach told him that it was dinnertime. He made spaghetti out of ingredients they had purchased yesterday, before John had rolled out of town, and garlic toast. He had dinner at the small kitchen table and put the rest in the fridge for Dean. When he was finished, he did the dishes and left them drying in the dish rack, then double-checked the door and salt lines.

Sam grabbed the bag he had tossed on the couch and headed for the bedroom. He pulled out the shirts and laid them on top of the old dresser. The CD walkman and CDs went on the nightstand, along with the books. He took the Nirvana CD out of its case and popped it in the portable CD/radio that Dean had bought last year. A smile touched his lips as the first few courses of “Nevermind” began to play, and he turned up the volume. He pulled the last few items out of the bag and laid them on the bed, and stared at them for a minute. Sam glanced around as if to insure that he was alone, rubbing his hands nervously against his thighs. Finally, he muttered “Okay,” aloud and tugged off his shirt. It went on the bed covers, followed next by his jeans. He rubbed his hands over his crossed arms for a moment, debating on if he wanted to really do what he was thinking about doing. He would never _ever_ live it down if Dean happened to come in..

Dean was out with some girl, though. He chewed at his bottom lip as he considered: his brother would, most likely, be gone for hours yet, if not the rest of the night. Sam scratched a hand through his longish hair and gave a mental shrug, then grabbed up the items lying on the bed. 

Several minutes later, Sam was standing in front of a full-length mirror that was hanging on the inside of the closet door. A frown played at his features as he smoothed the short, denim skirt down over his hips. His face was flushed from embarrassment at even doing this, but he wanted to know what was so appealing about girls like the thrift shop girl. He wanted to know what his older brother saw in them, what he was supposed to see in them. He was fairly certain this wasn’t the way most people found out, but the skirt had caught his eye in the thrift shop and he’d had an impulsive moment and bought it, along with a white top. The top was made of some kind of light material, its short, short sleeves lacey and its hem landing just an inch or so below his navel. He tilted his head, staring at himself in the mirror.

He looked ridiculous. 

Even if he had held a real interest in wearing skirts, he was far too scrawny. The thrift shop girl had had curves and breasts and a nice butt to fill in the outfit: he was just – scrawny and not tall enough (though he was starting to get taller, thank goodness) and just ridiculous. 

What was he even doing? God, if Dean saw him now..

Sam’s gaze shot to the far side of the room as the music stopped suddenly and he heard, 

“Sammy?”

His eyes widened in horror as he met Dean’s bewildered green gaze. Oh shit, no. No, this could not be happening. His brother was not standing in the room, staring at him in this – this get-up he was wearing. But he was, it was. His brother had come back hours earlier than expected and he hadn’t heard him enter because of the music, and now Dean was staring at him like he had grown a second head..

Sam’s mind screamed at him to “move, stupid!” and his body unfroze. He shot toward the door, shoving past his brother and out of the bedroom. He raced down the short hallway, to the bathroom, heart thudding against his ribs in mortification as he heard Dean’s puzzled call again,

“Sam?”

Sam slammed the bathroom door shut and turned the lock before leaning back against it. He closed his eyes as his brain screamed “Stupid! Stupid!” at him; he opened them again and started jerking at the skirt’s zipper, trying to get the stupid thing off. He succeeded after a moment and jerked it off his hips, kicking it into the bathtub.

A sudden knock against the door startled him, and his brother’s voice followed, “Sammy, come on.” Even from in here, he could hear the slight slur to Dean’s words. 

“Go away, Dean.” Sam jerked the shirt off and tossed it into the tub with the skirt, leaving himself standing there in only his boxers.

Another short knock, “Open the door. You know I don’t care about what you wear. Come on.”

He could _feel_ his face flooding red with shame and humiliation again – a quick glance in the mirror confirmed it. What the holy fuck had he been thinking? What was _wrong_ with him?

“Sammy..”

“Go away!” He was not leaving this room. He was not. He was not facing his brother. No way in hell. A pack of werewolves couldn’t drag him out of this bathroom right now. “Just leave me alone!”

Silence from outside the door for a long moment. He was struggling to control his panicked breathing when he heard Dean again,

“If it makes you feel better, you looked real pretty.”

Footsteps moving down the hall told him that his brother was complying with his request to be left alone and heading into the other room.

Oh God. He was never going to live this down. 

He didn’t leave the bathroom for the next hour. When he did finally exit, skirt and top clutched in his hand, he didn’t hear his brother; he crept quietly to the bedroom and spotted Dean lying on the bed, asleep. Sam breathed a soft sigh of relief and slipped into the room, where he grabbed a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt. He shoved the skirt and top into the bottom of his duffel bag before moving back into the living room to sleep on the couch.

 

Sam wasn’t certain what he expected the following morning, but Dean didn’t mention the incident of the previous night. 

He woke and saw that sunlight was streaming through the curtains hanging over one of the windows. He was motionless for a moment, listening, and heard someone moving around in the small kitchen. Sam took a deep breath and sat up on the couch, glancing over at the area designated as the kitchen. There wasn’t a wall between it and the living room area, so he had full view of his brother. Dean was standing at the stove, back to him: Sam could smell bacon.

“Mornin’, Sammy,” his brother greeted without turning, “How’d you sleep?” 

Sam blinked and tore his eyes away from his brother’s muscled back before answering, “Fine.” 

“Good. Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

Sam grunted out a sound that could probably pass for an affirmation and shoved himself to his feet. He took a moment to stretch before heading toward the bathroom. Once there, he locked the door and leaned against the small countertop, hands resting on the surface and head bowed. How long until Dean decided to start ribbing him for last night? How long until Dean called him out for being messed up, or weird, or worse? He bit his bottom lip as he realized that his brother might even call their father and have him come and get him. How could he explain that what had happened had been an experiment-of-sorts? A way to see what Dean saw in the girls he chose?

He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t explain any of this. Why would he want to know why Dean picked the girls he did, anyway? He was so screwed.

Dean didn’t mention last night’s episode during breakfast, or anytime after, when he insisted they explore the town some more and dragged Sam behind him. By late afternoon, Sam was beginning to wonder if his brother had been too drunk to even remember it. He hadn’t acted that drunk, but then his brother could hold his liquor quite well.

They were eating a dinner of the leftover spaghetti that Sam had fixed the previous night, when Dean said,

“Hey, thanks for the CD player and CD. They’re great.”

“Welcome,” he twirled a bite of spaghetti on his fork and shoved it into his mouth.

“What are you going to do while I’m at work all day?”

Sam glanced at his brother and found that Dean’s eyes were on the television and the old monster movie that was playing. 

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, “Hang around here and read. Check out the bookstore. Something.” It was summer so he wasn’t able to sign up for school here, which meant he would have to find other ways to occupy himself. 

“Mm,” Dean hummed as he took another bite of spaghetti, “Remember – “

“I know,” Sam interrupted with an eye roll, “Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t trust anyone. Check the salt lines. Don’t go into dark, spooky caves or sewers alone.” 

“You forgot to add ‘Fix Dean dinner every night’.” 

Dean shot him a smirk, and Sam gave him another eye-roll. 

“Yeah, yeah. I might.” 

“You’re too good to me, Sammy,” the older teen said with a smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair in an annoying (yet secretly endearing) gesture, “My good boy.” He turned his attention back to his food and the television screen.

If a shiver coursed through Sam’s entire body at that last comment.. well, that was between Sam and his body.

 

Sam visited the bookstore twice over the next three days, purchasing several books he wanted to read (and swiping one which was titled “The How-To of Gay Sex”). He visited the thrift shop once more, and found the local library. On the third day, he was walking to a small grocery several blocks over when he passed what was advertised to be a movie rental store. He paused outside it – there was a DVD player in the apartment – before ducking inside.

The air-conditioned interior of the store was a nice change from the sweltering heat outside, and made it worth coming inside for that alone. Sam glanced around for a moment, orienting himself (and automatically checking for any red flags that warned of danger). He headed for the horror movie section, which was sectioned along the wall just inside the entrance. He was fairly certain that you had to sign up for a membership to these places, which was fine: he had an address and an alias. If he had to be 18 to have a membership, he could bring Dean back later to sign up for one: his brother was 17 but had a fake ID that was authentic enough to get him into bars and liquor stores. 

Sam was moving through the action films near the back of the store, when a girl that couldn’t have been but a few years older than him strode up the aisle. She glanced at him as she placed several movies on one of the shelves and said, voice bored, 

“Let me know if you need any help.” 

Sam nodded and was about to walk past her, when he caught sight of a curtain covering a doorway along the back wall. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before asking, “What’s back there?” 

The girl followed his gaze and answered, “Adult movies. Porn, hentai, some toys and stuff. Crap like that.” She glanced around the store, peering over the shelves: they were alone in the building. “You can go on back if you want. You’re supposed to be 18 but there’s no-one else here, and my dad can run the place his own self if he doesn’t like it.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Sam hesitated a moment. It would be better to just walk on to the next aisle of movies, come back later and open a membership with Dean. Still – his curiosity tugged at him. He glanced at the girl, who nodded toward the curtained doorway; moments later, he was walking through it.

Sam halted several feet inside the curtained doorway and stared. This room was a fourth of the size of the rest of the place, the walls covered with shelves. The shelves were filled with DVD cases that portrayed naked people on the front. He couldn’t help but walk along the closest row of shelves, staring wide-eyed at the covers. Women with men, women with women, all of them naked. His eyes fell on a lower shelf and the flush that touched his cheeks increased: that row showed men with men on its jacket covers. 

Sam blinked and pulled himself away from the porn DVDs, to the shelves on the opposite wall. Those were filled with similar covers but in cartoon form. He ran a hand along the back of his neck – he should probably get out of here, he was too much of a teenager to long remain unaffected by the graphic pictures in front of him. His eyes caught the shelves of the back wall, though, and he was drawn to them.

These shelves, labeled “Toys and Play Enhancement”, held a display of packaged objects. Handcuffs, leather cuffs, floggers, something called a swing. He tilted his head, puzzling that one over, and his eyes came to rest on one of the lower shelves. Sam’s eyes widened, color rushing to his face in a flood, as he realized what those shelves held. He swallowed, eyes roaming the assortment of butt plugs and dildos, some obviously plastic and some quite realistic. 

“Shit,” he muttered as he reached out and, almost without realizing he was doing it, picked up one of the packages containing a realistic dildo. He glanced over his shoulder, a bit panicked, as he heard footsteps behind him. A moment later, the girl from earlier was pushing through the curtained doorway.

“Happy fun-time room,” she said with a roll of her eyes, glancing around. Her eyes fell on the package Sam was holding, and a grin touched her lips. “Got a chickie you want to use that on?” 

“Uh..” he glanced at the package he held, trying to think of something to say – he was beyond embarrassed at this point. Before he could come up with anything intelligible, the girl said,

“Ten bucks and it’s yours.”

“Wh – what?”

“Yeah, I know, package says $30, but screw it. I need money for the movies later tonight and my ass dad won’t give me any, so ten bucks and it’s yours. He doesn’t keep up with the inventory anyway.” 

He stared at the girl for a moment, stunned, before glancing down at the package in his hands. He had to put this thing down and get out of here. What the hell was he even doing? He had to –

He bit his lip as he glanced back at the girl: a moment later, he was pulling a $10 bill out of his pocket and handing it to her. 

“Awesome,” the girl grinned and pocketed the money, “Movies for me tonight! Come on, I’ll get you a bag for that.”

Sam exited the movie store two minutes later with a nondescript brown paper bag in one hand and a Coke (thrown in for free) in the other. He swallowed hard, eyes on the pavement, as he turned and headed in the direction of the apartment. 

Sam stashed his new purchase in the top of the closet in his bedroom, beneath an old blanket and wrapped in two old shirts that had been left by the previous tenant. He had to find a better place for it but it would have to do for the moment. If Dean found it – that thought had him strongly tempted to throw the thing in the trash and then take the trash out to a dumpster behind the thrift shop next door. Instead, he left the bedroom to go watch television and try to forget he had just purchased that thing.

He had to make another trip to the grocery a bit later – his first one had been sidetracked. This time, he passed the video store without stopping, though he did wave back when the girl from earlier spotted him through the glass-front and waved.

 

Sam was just pulling a pan out of the oven that evening when he heard a key in the deadbolt. He carefully placed the pan on top of the stove and turned toward the front door: his brother entered moments later. 

“Hey Sammy,” Dean closed and locked the door behind him before crossing toward the living room. He halted suddenly and sniffed the air. “Something smells good,” he noted, turning to face the younger Winchester, “That ours or is that from our neighbor’s apartment?” 

Sam chuckled quietly and answered, “Ours.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” his brother moved into the kitchen and crossed to the stove. He was about to lift the foil on the pan but paused as Sam warned, 

“It’s hot.”

He reached for the foil covering and carefully lifted the edge, avoiding the steam that came pouring out. “Is that roast?”

Sam shot him a sheepish smile and nodded yes, then told him, “They had a sale at the grocery. I thought it would be nice –“ 

“Hell yes!” Dean agreed enthusiastically as he grabbed his shirt and tugged him close; Sam found himself in a playful headlock a moment later. 

“Ugh, you smell like motor oil.” He pinched the older teen on the side, just above the hip, and Dean danced away with a huff of laughter, releasing him in the process.

“Yeah, I need a shower.”

“Go,” Sam waved toward the direction of the bathroom, “I’ll finish this while you take one.”

His brother didn’t argue and headed for the bathroom, calling back over his shoulder, “You’re the best, Sammy.”

The dinner of beef roast, steamed vegetables and instant mashed potatoes seemed to be a success: Dean ate with gusto. “That was awesome,” he shot Sam a grin when his plate was clean. 

“Ready for dessert?”

“Dessert?” Dean repeated the word and raised his brows. 

Sam moved across the kitchen to open one of the cabinet doors, and pulled out his surprise dessert. He grabbed two small plates and clean forks and carried everything back to the table.

“Pie?” Dean’s eyes widened almost comically, and he broke out into a huge grin, “You got me pie? Damn Sam, I could marry you right now!” 

When dessert was finished, Dean leaned back in his chair with a content groan. He rubbed his stomach as he said, “I ate too much. It was great, though. Thanks, baby boy.” 

Sam felt the flush creeping up his neck at his brother’s old nickname for him. He mumbled “you’re welcome” and stood from the table to start on the dishes before his brother noticed him blushing. Dean stood and picked up his own plates and crossed the kitchen to help him.

Dean was sitting on the couch later that evening when Sam moved into the living room. He glanced at the television and smiled as he saw an episode of “The Beverly Hillbillies.” His brother was such a dork. He was moving toward the end of the couch opposite Dean, whom was half-sitting, half-laying against the couch arm, when the older Winchester reached up suddenly and grabbed his wrist.

“Dean!” Sam huffed, annoyed, as his brother pulled him down beside him and wrapped an arm around his chest. He tried to pull away but was tugged up against his brother’s side, and Dean’s hold was firm. 

“Come on, Sammy.” 

He recognized the tone of voice and glanced up at the other’s face to see that he was right: Dean was pouting.

“You used to like to cuddle,” there was a teasing note in the pout, “’Sides, you’re warm.” 

“Get a blanket, dumbass. Not even that cool in here,” Sam muttered (though the apartment was pleasantly cool, in contrast to the sweltering heat outside – he loved air conditioning). Still, he relented and let Dean pull him up against his side. He waited, knowing what was coming next; Sam smirked to himself as, moments later, the older teen’s fingers gravitated to his longish hair and began stroking through it. Dean always had had a thing about petting his hair when they were younger and cuddled up on the couch or sharing a bed in a motel room or in the backseat of the Impala. He could admit to himself that he liked it, too: it was soothing.

They were into the next episode of “The Beverly Hillbillies” marathon when Dean’s fingers slid down to play with the hair at the back of his neck. If he hadn’t been completely relaxed already, that would have put him there. He sighed in contentment, head resting against Dean’s shoulder, as the other played with his hair. A shiver ran through him when Dean’s fingertips brushed along his neck, stroking skin, and the older Winchester chuckled softly. 

“Like a kitten,” his brother murmured against his hair, continuing his petting. His only response was a “mm”, his eyes half-closed. Sam shivered again as those strong fingers brushed along his skin behind his ear; he thought he felt Dean’s other arm tighten around his waist, but figured he was imagining it. Moments later, with Dean’s fingernails moving up to scratch lightly against his scalp, he succumbed to sleep.

 

The alarm clock woke him abruptly the next morning. Sam opened his eyes and glared at it, but it kept on with the noise. With a put-upon sigh, he sat up and reached over to shut it off. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around: he was in the bedroom he and Dean were sharing. He recalled vaguely his brother waking him and leading him from the couch to the bedroom last night. He heard the shower running and glanced at the clock: Dean was probably getting ready for work. He considering laying back down, but knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Instead he slid out of bed and stretched, then headed for the kitchen.

When Dean entered the kitchen a short while later, he was fresh from the shower and wearing only a pair of jeans, his towel draped around his shoulders. Sam shot him a quick glance before looking back to the eggs he was preparing. 

“Breakfast is pretty much ready,” he informed the older teen.

He heard Dean’s bare feet padding softly on the floor; seconds later, his brother was behind him, glancing over his shoulder. Sam swallowed as the other pressed against his back to inspect his cooking skills. 

“Looks good, Sam.”

He didn’t look at Dean but he could hear the smile in the words, feel his breath against his ear. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when Dean stepped away a moment later and moved to the table. 

He had fixed their plates and was sitting at the table, attempting to eat, minutes later. Dean was talking about something that had happened at his new job the previous day in between bites of food. The older Winchester picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, and made a sound very close to a soft moan. Sam stared at him, eyes riveted to Dean’s face.

“Sometimes coffee is better than sex,” his brother shot him a grin.

Sam’s entire body responded to the words, the grin, that soft moan. Realization hit him like a bolt of lightening in that moment, and he jerked in surprise, bumping his glass of orange juice with his arm. Some of it splashed out of the glass, and Sam grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the table. He nodded yes at Dean’s inquiry of “You okay?” and continued cleaning up the spill. His brother shrugged and went back to his meal, but his shock and the odd feeling in his stomach, very close to “butterflies”, had killed his appetite.

He had a crush on his brother.

 

Sam spent the next few days trying to distract himself from his new realization. He cleaned the apartment, he read his books, he visited both the thrift store and the book store. He told himself that he couldn’t have a crush on Dean; it was _Dean_. His _brother_. He stopped believing that lie fairly quickly, though, when he walked in on Dean getting dressed by accident and his entire body reacted to the sight. So he tried to avoid physical contact and close proximity with the other, but it was a bit difficult: Dean was constantly touching him. Tugging his hair, dropping a hand on his shoulder, small touches that set Sam’s nerves on edge. Even worse were the mornings he woke up and Dean had snuggled up to him in his sleep, or he had cuddled up to Dean. They had done it all their lives, but his head and body were suddenly reacting to it.

Fucking puberty. This so wasn’t fair. It made a twisted kind of sense in a messed-up way: Dean was the person he was with all the time, his only constant. They knew each other better than anyone else knew them. The older teen was his role-model and maybe still a bit of a hero to him. Still, these new feelings were messing with his head (not to mention his body). Stupid puberty. It was messing everything up.

They had been in the apartment, and this town, for approximately 3 ½ weeks – 24 days – when Dean’s cell phone rang on a Wednesday morning. 

Sam stopped stirring the pancake batter he was mixing for a moment to listen as he heard Dean greet,

“Hey dad.” 

“Yeah, we’re fine. When are –“ 

“Oh.” A muscle in Dean’s jaw ticked as he listened to the man on the other end of the line.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. I know. I will.”

Sam dropped his gaze to the pancake batter and started mixing it again as Dean pocketed his cell phone. He knew his brother well, recognized Dean’s aggravation in his stance and the clenching of his jaw.

“How long is he going to be gone now?”

“Couple more weeks minimum,” his brother answered, eyes on the far wall, “Could be as long as two more _months_.” 

“Oh,” he poured some of the batter in the pan that was heating on the stovetop before raising his eyes back to Dean. “Would you – “ he hesitated, and his brother’s eyes shifted to him, “Would you rather be there with him? Helping him?” 

Dean stared at him for exactly three seconds, an oddly intense look in his eyes. He didn’t look away as he answered, “No. I’m right where I want to be, Sammy.” 

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, and Dean shot him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just sucks,” the other man said, “that we’ve spent most of our lives not really knowing our father because he’s never fucking around.” 

Sam blinked, shocked: those were words that he would have spoken himself, had thought many times, but had never expected to hear from Dean. He blinked again and turned to look at the pan on the stove as his brother noted, “Pancake is burning. I’m going to take a shower, be out in a few.”

As Dean was leaving for work after breakfast, Sam touched his arm, halting him. “It sucks,” he agreed, voice quiet, “but – but I’m okay if you’re here.” 

Dean’s smile did reach his eyes this time, and his touch was gentle as he laid a hand against the younger Winchester’s face,

“Me too, Sam.”

 

It was later that same evening, almost time for Dean to get off work, when Sam received a text from his brother:

_Going out with the guys from work for a while. I’ll be in late._

He texted back an “ok” and tossed his phone on the couch beside him. He grabbed up the remote and flipped through the channels until he found one that was playing cartoons. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a soda out of the fridge and a bag of pretzels out of one of the cabinets and returned to the couch. 

Sam was flipping through the channels again an hour or so later, wondering what his brother was doing. Having drinks with his work friends, without a doubt. Maybe picking up a girl. Maybe even –

He frowned and continued flipping through the television stations, pausing when he came to the “premier channels”. Usually they were blocked but now were showing. Free trial, he figured, to draw people into purchasing those channels. He flipped through a few of them, pausing as an image on the screen caught his attention. Two women were plastered on the screen, sans clothing and in a compromising position. Two men were standing behind them, also naked, watching and stroking themselves. 

Porn. A free trial of a porn channel. He smirked at the screen but left it playing, tossing the remote down beside him. 

Several minutes later, Sam was half-hard. He was a teenager – a picture of a woman in a bikini could get him hard these days. This? This was even better! He reached down to rub himself through his jeans as one of the on-screen men slid into one of the women. He bit his lip hard, his cock swelling completely as, a minute later, the second man knelt behind the first and spread him open to slide fingers into him. Sam fumbled with the button on his jeans, undoing it, and shoved down his zipper. He hesitated for only a second before slipping his hand into his jeans to squeeze himself. His thoughts touched on the ‘toy’ now hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the back of the bedroom closet, and he grabbed the remote and changed the channel back to cartoons before switching off the television. He stood and headed for the bedroom, jeans still undone.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was standing beside the bed, completely nude. The toy he had purchased several weeks ago was laying on the bed covers, opened, the packaging hidden beneath the floorboard again. Next to it laid a small tube of lube that he had picked up last week. He hadn’t used the dildo, had only just opened it for the first time, but he had used his fingers on himself once or twice over the past few weeks. He stared at it for a moment, fighting with that part of him that told him to get rid of the thing before Dean came home and found him like this. 

That, of course, only made him harder. 

Sam picked up the skirt and blouse that Dean had caught him wearing once before, and had been hidden away until now. He stared at them for a minute, then dropped the skirt to pull on the top.

Minutes later, Sam was dressed in the top and the short, denim skirt. His hard dick tented the front of the skirt and he looked as ridiculous (if not more-so) as he had the first time. Still – his brother found girls in skirts appealing, looked at them constantly, and Sam wanted to know why. He wanted to be as appealing as those girls, be the thing his brother wanted. He couldn’t have that in reality but he could have it here, right now, in his head.

He started slow. Spread out on his back on the bed, skirt shoved up around his hips. Fingers covered in lube, he reached down to brush against his hole. A shudder of pleasure raced through him, and he began rubbing himself in earnest, slowly stroking his cock with his other hand. He bit back a hiss of pleasured-pain as he pressed a finger into himself. There was a slight burn but it wasn’t overwhelming, and he began to thrust his finger in deeper. 

Three fingers later and Sam was moaning softly, his dick leaking pre-come. He pulled his fingers free and wiped them clean on the sheets before picking up the dildo, which was lying next to him. He poured lube over it and used his other hand to slick it up, stroking it slowly. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Dean’s dick in his hand, and another spurt of pre-come leaked from his cock. He wanted it inside him _now_.

Sam spread his legs wide, the skirt shifting around his hips, and rubbed the head of the dildo against his hole. He teased himself for several moments before he began to slowly push it in.

The burn was worse than it had been with his fingers, the dildo stretching him open, but he continued pressing it deeper. A soft moan of “oh fuck” escaped him as the head slipped past the tight ring of muscles. It hurt like hell but he wanted more. He waited a minute, allowing his body to adjust, before pushing it in deeper. It didn’t take long until it was seated to the base inside him, causing him to clutch at the sheets and pant rapidly. His dick had gone somewhat soft as he was pressing the fake dick inside himself, but it hardened again as he stroked his fingers over it lightly. With a moan of “fuck, yeah,” he grasped the dildo’s base and began working it inside him.

Several minutes later, Sam realized it wasn’t enough. It felt good but he couldn’t get the angle he needed, nor did he have the reach to thrust faster or harder. He cursed beneath his breath and rolled onto his stomach. He shifted so that he was on his knees, his chest flat against the bed and his ass in the air. He reached back and grasped the dildo again and began fucking himself with it. Still not completely ideal, but a bit better. A soft groan escaped him and he thrust his dick against the bed covers, craving some friction. He imagined it was Dean behind him, filling him with his cock, and his own dick twitched at the thought. He was able to push the dildo a bit deeper and a soft groan of “Oh fuck, Dean,” escaped his lips.

Sam froze suddenly as he heard,

“Now this is something I didn’t expect to see.”

He turned his head to look over his shoulder toward the bedroom door, and his panicked gaze met the green one of his older brother. Oh, fucking hell damnit shit fuck..

Sam started to shift, to stop what he was doing and reach for the blanket to cover himself. He froze again, face pressed against the pillow, as his brother spoke a single word, 

“No.”

It was a command, an order, filled with authority, and Sam didn’t dare disobey it. He remained frozen, breathing rapid in his panic and his thoughts racing with fear, arousal and dread. His brother had not only found him like this, but had heard him _moan Dean’s name_.

He swallowed hard as he heard footsteps crossing the floor toward him, and his fingers twitched where they lay on the bed covers. He wanted to grab the blanket and cover his shame but didn’t dare disobey the obvious command to remain still. The footsteps stopped next to the bed – he didn’t look back at his brother, couldn’t. He could smell the trace of whiskey in the air – Dean had been drinking – could hear a slight slur in the words as the older Winchester spoke softly,

“Look at you.”

Fingers brushed lightly against his ass cheek and Sam jerked in surprise. A shiver ran through him as those fingers brushed down his ass, down the back of his thigh, and shame flooded him again. He closed his eyes, trying to prevent tears of shame and embarrassment from slipping down his cheeks, as Dean grasped the hem of the skirt bunched around his hips and tugged lightly at it. 

“Told you you looked real pretty in this,” Dean’s words were husky, traced with something unfamiliar: It took Sam a moment to realize that it was lust. A sound that was very close to a soft whimper escaped his throat as the other’s fingers slid down his crack to bump against the dildo. 

“Fuck, Sammy, look at you, spread open on a fake dick.”

A soft gasp escaped him as he felt Dean’s fingertip trace around his hole, which was stretched around the dildo. A moment later, the other was grasping the base and pulling it slowly out of him. Sam couldn’t contain his whimper, try as he might, and Dean chuckled darkly. When only the head of the dildo was inside him, Dean pushed it back in, fast. Sam gasped again, body jerking with the sensation, and his brother repeated the action: pulled it out and shoved it back in. 

“Want it, Sammy?” 

Dean was pressing against him suddenly, his groin tight against Sam’s ass, pressing the dildo in, his torso stretched over Sam’s back. Sam felt fingers grasping his wrists tightly, pinning him into place; a moment later, his brother’s hot breath was against his ear. 

“Are you pretending this is my cock inside you, baby boy? Hmm?”

The nickname had his dick leaking again and he jerked involuntarily against the bed covers. He moaned softly as Dean’s groin pressed tighter against him, shoving the dildo deeper. Moments later, his brother’s hand was sliding between them, grasping the toy and twisting it. 

“So fucking pretty like this,” the words were a growl at his ear, Dean’s teeth catching his earlobe to nip at it. The dildo was twisted again, drawing a hungry moan from his throat, and Dean let out another growl. 

“So fuckin hot, Sammy, spread open and filled with cock. You didn’t answer me. Are you pretending this is my dick inside you?”

Dean slid the dildo partially out of him before shoving it back in, changing the angle just slightly: Sam cried out softly as pleasure shot through his entire being. 

“Answer me, Sam,” the words were a commanding growl, another order.

“Yes,” he couldn’t disobey, couldn’t stop his moan, “Yes.” 

His brother was manhandling him suddenly, rolling him onto his back and shoving his thighs apart. The other knelt between them, reached down to grasp the dildo and work it in and out of him. 

“Want to see your face while I’m fucking you with this.” 

Sam moaned again at the words, the sound wanton and hungry, even to him. Dean reached up with his free hand to pinch one of his nipples, causing the younger teen to jerk with a soft cry. 

“Would you open that ass for me if I wanted to fuck you?” 

Dean began to fuck him in earnest with the toy, speeding up the thrusts, changing the angle to hit what he assumed was his prostrate and drawing out gasps and moans of pleasure.

“Answer me, Sam!”

“Yes,” it was a breathless proclamation, reverent and hungry, “Yes, I’d do anything you wanted.” 

“Good boy.”

His dick spurted more pre-come at those two words, another shiver of pleasure running along his nerves. 

“Some girl wanted me to fuck her tonight,” Dean’s words were a low growl against his ear, breath hot and sending shivers through him, “Wanted me to open her up like you are right now and fuck her. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, though. Was hoping I would come home and catch you in that tight little skirt again. You know how many nights I’ve jerked off, thinking about you wearing that? Found something better though, didn’t I?” 

“Deeean…”

“Yeah, baby,” Dean’s fingers brushed against his mouth, pushed in between his lips, and Sam began to suck on them hungrily, “You want big brother’s dick, don’t you? Want me to fuck you.” 

His nod was frantic as he raised his hips, trusting against his brother and back against the fake cock inside him. He moaned as Dean pulled his fingers free of his mouth; a moment later, the other was shifting down the bed, fist still wrapped around the dildo’s base.

Sam cried out in shocked pleasure as, moments later, Dean’s hot mouth was on him. His brother’s mouth was around his dick, licking and sucking. All the while, he continued fucking him with the dildo, the thrusts becoming faster and harder. 

He spread his legs wider, letting them fall open completely, as he arched into Dean’s mouth. “Fuck me, Dean,” his words were a desperate, needy moan, “Please, please..”

Dean raised up and, with a low growl, pulled the dildo free from his body and tossed it aside on the bed. Sam watched as his brother jerked open the button and zipper of his jeans, struggled to shove them off his lean hips. He had them kicked off a minute later, along with his boxers, and his hard dick was jutting up against his stomach.

“You want this, baby boy?” the older teen grasped his own dick and stroked it several times, a smirk on his face, “Hmm?”

“Yes! Please, god yes please fuck yes,” he was babbling but he didn’t care: he wanted his brother inside him. The older teen released his dick to grab Sam’s hips and pull him up on his lap: Sam moaned as he felt the Dean’s hard dick pressing against his hole.

Dean’s fingers traced down Sam’s cock to rub against his balls as the other teased,

“You want fucked?”

“Yes,” his words were a breathless gasp as the other lightly slapped his balls, sending shockwaves of pleasured-pain through him, “yes yes yes.”

“Want me to fuck you raw, baby boy? Fill you with my cum and make you mine?”

Another frantic nod as he reached for his brother, fingers clutching at Dean’s hot, bare skin. Yes yes yes. He wanted that. He wanted _exactly_ that. Now.

Sam’s breath caught as he felt his brother shoving into him, head pushing slowly in to breach the tight ring of muscle.

“So tight,” 

the other’s voice was a groan as Dean held himself still for a moment, allowing Sam to adjust. He had had enough adjusting, though, and he wanted all of the other and he wanted it now. 

“Fuck me,” he pleaded, trying to press his ass back against Dean, “fuck me now, hard, please Dean!”

Dean growled, leaned over him to clamp teeth down on his shoulder, and shoved in hard. Sam’s cry was a mixture of pain and pleasure and submission, and he grabbed at his brother’s short hair, urging him to continue biting. The other did, biting down hard enough to bruise immediately, and began thrusting into him, fucking him. Dean raised up and grabbed his hips in a bruising grip – Sam loved it, wanted those bruises – and jerked him tight against him, burying himself balls-deep inside him. 

“Fucking tight bitch,” Dean growled, thrusting hard into him and grinding his cock deep, “Raising that skirt for your brother to fuck your ass.” 

The other leaned over and trailed his tongue up Sam’s throat, along his jaw line and over to his mouth. A moment later, Dean’s tongue was claiming his mouth, possessing it, _owning it_ , and Sam was gone. He cried out against his brother’s lips as he began to cum hard, fingers digging into Dean’s upper arms, holding on. Dean followed moments later, groaning against Sam’s mouth as he shot his load inside him.

Dean collapsed on top of him for a minute, catching his breath. Sam winced slightly as the other slowly slid out of him – he was going to be sore – and rolled over to lay beside him. He caught his own breath, body shaking from exertion and pleasure and his eyes on the ceiling. He feared looking at Dean, feared that he would see anger tracing the other’s features, or disgust, or worse. He had, after all, practically seduced his brother. Corrupted him, even..

Sam started and glanced over at Dean as fingers tangled suddenly in his hair and his head was pulled back a bit. The other leaned in and caught his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss; Sam responded eagerly, a soft whimper of need, need that wasn’t solely sexual, escaping his throat. They parted after a minute and Dean trailed his fingers through Sam’s hair.

The younger Winchester finally raised his eyes to his brother’s: instead of the expected anger, Dean was smiling fondly at him. 

“You’re – “ his voice broke momentarily, “You’re not mad?”

“No, baby boy. Why the hell would I be mad? That was awesome,” Dean chuckled softly, scraping his nails lightly against Sam’s scalp. Sam turned into the touch, eyes closing, and the older teen questioned, 

“Are you?”

He shook his head no and murmured, “Wanted it.”

“So did I,” the whispered words at his ear had him opening his eyes and studying Dean’s face, “For far too long.”

“How long?”

“Too long,” his brother repeated, brushing a thumb across his bottom lip. He nipped at the digit and Dean gave him a predatory grin. The older teen leaned close and murmured at his ear,

“Next time, I’m fucking you with that toy until you cum while riding it.”


End file.
